


on life, and love

by amaanogawa



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Falling In Love, Fluff, M/M, honestly just disgusting and pure, they're in love and engaged and i have a lot of feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 07:36:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8835913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaanogawa/pseuds/amaanogawa
Summary: "Katsuki Yuuri, the boy with the melted wax wings, takes a brush and lays paint to canvas, colouring Victor’s monotonous life as if it were a paint-by-numbers activity."two instances of i) life, and ii) love, and the ways that a single person can redefine both.





	

  
  
  
  
      _i) on life (and how we choose to spend it)_

 

 

Victor has always seen life as though it were dyed with colours.

Back when he was an up-and-coming skater, life was filled with hues of rich purples, shining yellows, velvety reds. Every day was new and exciting. When he pulled off a perfect jump that he’d been practicing for a while, the whole rink would be swathed in a silky royal blue. When he finally finished choreographing the perfect routine paired with the perfect song and got to put idea to action on the ice, all he could see was brilliant green, blooming from underneath the blades of his skates.  
  
But absolutely nothing compared to what he saw after nailing his program, performing beyond the crowd’s wildest imagination, feeling the surprise and the excitement course through the atmosphere before him in that final pose that would conclude the act he poured his very soul into.  
  
There was _always_ a beat of suffocating silence when he finished, breath turning to fire in his lungs from exertion and that single spotlight blazing down on him, hot enough to melt the ice.  
  
And then the audience would _erupt_ , and prisms of multicoloured light would bathe the entire rink. Every single colour of the rainbow shining from the tips of his fingers, from the very hollows of his bones and god, Victor would feel _alive_ in that singular moment, in every sense of the term. There was nothing better than that feeling, not the fame or the glory or even the loaded weight of gold hanging from his neck- just that indescribable, unsurpassable feeling of being on the ice and pouring every inch of what he was into his performance knowing not a single person watching him could even imagine what he was about to do.  
  
He just wanted to surprise people. He just wanted to be the best, so much so that people couldn’t begin to imagine how good he could possibly be, how far he could possibly go.  
  
Turns out, the top is a very lonely place.  
  
It’s lonely and it’s suffocating and more than anything else, it’s devoid of any colour whatsoever. There’s black and there’s white and there’s all encompassing _grey_. There’s _as expected of the living legend Victor Nikiforov,_ and there’s _nothing is surprising when it comes to the grand champion huh_ and truth be told, colour has been sucked out of everything Victor touches for quite some time now.  
  
It’s another Grand Prix Finals and another gold medal, which of course, no one bats an eye at because it’s Victor Nikiforov and there’s isn’t much surprising about yet another gold medal hanging from his neck. Victor feels like he’s being strangled by it standing up on that podium because all in all it’s just so _meaningless_.  
  
Later that day after everything is over, there’s a plain-faced boy who lays eyes on him like most people do- toeing the line of awe and admiration. Katsuki Yuuri, the boy who flew on wings of wax, made it all the way to the GPF only to burn and plummet into the sea. When Victor asks if he would like a commemorative photo, he turns a sickly shade of pale like someone drew the colour out from his skin. Victor thinks about how it could be a metaphor for his life, though he can’t imagine why Katsuki Yuuri would have such a reaction to his innocent and well-meaning question.  
  
It isn’t until the banquet that Victor sees this boy again, glasses perched high on the bridge of his nose looking forlorn and melancholy. He slips away to the edge of the room as soon as his coach takes his eyes off of him and Victor doesn’t think about him again until he reappears an hour later, pointing a sweaty finger in Yuri Plisetsky’s face and slurring something about a dance-off, something about revenge for some confrontation in a bathroom and Yuri’s face is turning redder by the moment.  
  
It isn’t until this drunken mess of a boy stumbles into the middle of the banquet hall, Yuri in tow, that Victor sees the first swathe of colour spread itself across his vision in _years_. They’re dancing, rowdy and skilled and completely ridiculous and then clothes are being shed and a pole is brought in from somewhere and everything is fast and fun and completely _insane_. Dots of colour are raining from the skies and the banquet hall itself is coming alive, _Victor is feeling alive_ , truly, the beat of his heart pounding against his ribcage is testament to the blood running through his veins as he twirls and dips and laughs against the sweaty, flushed cheek of a mysterious drunken boy.  
  
Katsuki Yuuri, the boy with the melted wax wings, takes a brush and lays paint to canvas, colouring Victor’s monotonous life as if it were a paint-by-numbers activity.  
  
And so, if later that night Victor finds himself locked within the arms of that same boy, about to have his life irrevocably changed by a mere three words spurred only by an impossible amount of champagne, well,  
  
It was certainly a change that had been long past due.

 

   
_ii) on love (and all that it means)_

It happens all of a sudden.  
  
Victor knows that he loves Yuuri- known it in the same way that he knows how to breathe. It comes in a way so natural, so intimately wound into his life that he doesn’t even begin to think about the weight of what it was. It was something akin to waking up one day like he had always been this way, without knowing when, or how, or why.  
  
It just was.  
  
He knew he loved Yuuri.  
  
But this, this was different. This was looking up from his phone on a lazy Sunday afternoon to see Yuuri cross-legged on the floor with _Russian for Dummies_ propped in his lap, Makkachin curled up fast asleep beside him. This was watching the way Yuuri’s brows scrunched together in concentration, the way he silently mouthed each foreign syllable to himself as he went. This was noticing the light curl of his fingertips as he slowly but meticulously traced Russian letters into Makkachin’s back.  
  
This was coming to the grand realization that Victor wanted this, wanted _him_ , forever.  
  
Victor doesn’t pretend that he puts much thought into what he feels. That was Yuuri’s expertise, thinking and thinking and thinking about why, what, when, how. Victor has always had the understanding that feelings are feelings because they’re meant to be felt, not thought, and so while Victor knew he loved Yuuri it was never a revelation, never some epiphany that changed his life in any significant way. He just loved him, plain and simple, and didn’t think about it any further than that.  
  
It was never like this single, split second of a moment, where he realizes just how in love he is with this person in front of him, what that _meant_ , what he _wanted_.  
  
“Yuuri?”  
  
Yuuri doesn’t look up, continues to draw invisible characters into Makkachin’s soft curls without any idea that Victor is thinking about how content he’d be to spend every single day with him for the rest of his life.  
  
“Hmm?“  
  
“ _Aishiteru_.”  
  
The book clatters to the floor and it’s all Victor can do to smile because he’s thinking _god, I’m in love with this person, aren’t I_? Katsuki Yuuri, who marched into Victor’s monotonous life and taught him everything about what it meant to live, what it meant to love, redefined everything Victor ever knew about how to _be_ with a flick of his fingers.  
  
“Wha- w-where did you learn that?”  
  
“Google translate. I wanted to say I love you, is it not correct?“  
  
“Well, I mean, yes, it means I love you but it’s- it’s hard to explain, it’s, uhm, a very _strong_ way of saying it-”  
  
“That’s good then, because my love for you is very strong, right?”  
  
“N-no you don’t understand- ahh geez, _Victooor_ ,”  
  
And as Yuuri draws the shape of his name out over his tongue like it has always belonged there, _will always belong there_ , Victor can’t help but feel like starlight itself runs through his veins.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope they can be happy forever. 
> 
>  
> 
> [my tumblr](http://www.amaanogawa.tumblr.com)


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